Beginnings
by anthrop
Summary: Setting up business deals are a walk in the park nowadays. It helps when the client is an open book though.


Written from a prompt on the HiNaBN-fanfiction group on dA.

* * *

**Beginnings**

* * *

They met at an out-of-the-way café, the kind that profited more from staying open late for the graveyard shifters than from anything else. He arrived fifteen minutes early, out of habit, ordered a cup of coffee ten minutes early, to keep up appearances, and had nearly finished it by the time the client arrived, three minutes early. Not too desperate (early); not too bigheaded (late). He'd been expecting one or the other, but three was a good number. Balanced.

Or at least in the habit of pretending.

He stood and extended his hand with a smile. "Mr. Achenleck! Having a good evening, I presume?"

The client—first name Conrad, middle initial D, English, Ringling alumnus, amusing tattoo on right shoulder, etc.—shook his hand (firm grip, if a bit quick to release) and asked uncertainly, "Mr. Toucey, then?"

"Lamont, please. No need to be so formal." He gestured to the chair across the table and they both sat, and he immediately let body language do the talking.

A quick onceover told him everything. The client was on the short side of average height; broad shouldered but with a slim build (definitely a born artist, couldn't be anything else with that nose); stylish hair, stylish clothes, stylish glasses. Momma's boy? No, no; the curvature of the spine was all wrong. Left hand rubbed his neck; no doubt where he had been bitten by Adelaide. Whole posture screamed hesitant, the kind of guy used to being pushed around. Must have been a real dragon lady then. No wonder he fled overseas rather than go to school somewhere closer to home. Shame about the vampire thing. Probably had made his opinion of the land of milk and honey drop a notch or three, but oh well for that.

"So, W—um—Dr. Worth said you could help me out." Immediately bit his lip, and there were the too-white teeth so common among vampires. Significantly different sized canines, so must not have ingested much of his sire's blood. Not surprising, considering who his sire was, after all.

He allowed his eyebrows to rise slightly, and filed the slipup away for another time. "And just how can I do that?"

He glanced over his shoulder at the barista behind the counter before answering. Cautious, which was good, but obvious. Too obvious. "I'm pretty sure I don't have to spell it out for you," he muttered.

"Humor me?" He smiled and finished the last of his coffee.

Not what the client wanted to hear. Knitted eyebrows, hunched shoulders, tightened fingers, a scowl that bared his titular fang; the whole nine yards. Cute. "I didn't come all this way to _humor_ you, Mr. Toucey."

Formal it was, then.

"I apologize, _Mr. Achenleck,_ if my attempts at keeping the mood light are not something you're appreciative towards." A casual nod towards the other warm bodies in the café. "I hope I'm not the first to tell you that trafficking in human goods is a serious matter."

A flinch. Smart. Mr. Achenleck was aware then, if only vaguely, of the dangerous turn his life had taken. "Then it's hardly something you should _joke_ about."

"Quite the opposite." He leaned back, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "I've realized that if you don't keep your sense of humor in this line of work, you'll probably end up dead."

Another flinch. Also smart. It was time to ease the tension, now that the message had been made clear.

"I don't mean to threaten you, Conrad—" Watched the muscles in the client's face ease at the sound of his first name, just like any other open book, "—I just want to make it clear what you're getting yourself into."

"An altogether less irritating situation than I'm already in, I hope." A sneer—disgust, fear, embarrassment. _Of course._

"I see Lucy's been rubbing you the wrong way." Chuckle the right number of syllables that said _fond memories_ as he thought of the time Luce broke his collarbone. "Don't take it personally; he's always been about as huggable as a cactus."

"That's putting it mild—_Lucy?_"

He laughed. "It's just a fond nickname. He and I go way back." About as way back as anyone could go, actually, but that was a fun fact for another time.

"O-oh." Raised eyebrows, loose jaw, obviously wanted to ask questions, but then a frustrated huff—still breathing, that was hilarious—and it was back to rubbing the holes. Interesting. Knew when to shut his trap. Needed to work on that patience though. That could be trouble.

"Anyway, I know about your diet requirements, and you know the good doctor gets his supplies from me. But I _also_ know that the good doctor is giving you your medications _pro bono,_ which is surprisingly decent of him." Understatement of the _century_. "Then again, his personality can leave much to be desired, so I can understand your wanting to have as little contact with him as possible."

"Th—"

"_However,_" Leaned forward on one forearm over the table, using his larger bulk to his advantage. Intimidation wasn't really required for this client, but if he established it now it would be easier later if any problems arose. Not that he expected any. "I am not quite so generous. My prices can be steep, but I'm punctual, reliable, and most of all—" Queue the reassuring smile, "—_discreet._ I'm sure you can appreciate that."

Tightened, guilty expression; leaned back stiffly in the chair. _Definitely_ hadn't told anyone yet.

"I also deliver—_personally_." A casual shrug. "Otherwise it's up to the client when and where the pickup point is."

"You don't have an office?"

"Makes it easier to get caught if you've got a permanent base of operations." Another smile, but pointedly less reassuring. Another unspoken reminder that yes, this was essentially a drug deal and that yes, one must be cautious when dealing.

"Well that makes sense, I suppose." Of course it did, but it was always good when the client understood that too. The critical expression was a little on the negative side—and the faded black bruise on his jaw wasn't helping any, but hey, no one could say Lamont Toucey didn't know how to defend himself when it came down to it—but he passed whatever little internal "Is He Decent?" test the client reserved for people, as he knew he would. After all, when compared to that gnarled old kangaroo, how could he fail?

"Before you decide on that, we should discuss prices—"

"That's not necessary."

"Oh?" Of course he knew why—had already gotten his hands on _all_ of the client's banking information, in fact—but those magic words were still so nice to hear.

"I'll pay _anything_ to see as little of that hack as I can manage."

He laughed. "I can understand that, believe me." Another laugh for a different reason he wouldn't be sharing with the client, ever. "Well I have to say that that's a nice change of pace from what I'm used to. So." He pulled a small address book and pen from a pocket and put on his best business face. "Shall we?"

* * *

Two cups of coffee and a half hour later, Lamont had a satisfying jitter in his limbs that—judging from the agitated tone had crept into the client's voice—was distracting as hell to a fledging, and the deal was just about wrapped up. Just about.

"Best to settle this at a week-to-week basis, I think," he said, returning his address book to its usual pocket.

"Sure." The client had definitely relaxed, but that was no surprise. He'd always had that effect on people. Just one of those faces, you know? "Any particular reason why?"

A shrug that let him glance at his watch. "Oh, well, I'm assuming—and I hope you're not offended by this—that you aren't planning on sticking with the bagged stuff for the rest of your respectably _long_ life." Nice big flinch there. At least the possibility of immortality had occurred to the client; it was always… embarrassing when he had to explain supernatural details that ought to have been common knowledge. "And even if you want to—" Oh he did alright, anybody could see that written all over his fish belly-pale face, "—it's about as likely as pigs flying. No point in signing you into an agreement you can't keep, right?"

"Er, well, I suppose…" Didn't like that either, apparently. Well, that was the client's problem, not his. Either way, it was time to go.

"And on that depressing note—" He stood and stretched the stiffness out of his shoulders, and the client stood as well—no reflexive stretching after sitting still for so long; guy was used to it, not to mention his body must already be adjusting fairly well to all the little side effects of being a cold slab of meat, the lucky bastard. "—I'm afraid I've got other appointments tonight."

They shared another handshake. This time the client—_Conrad,_ keeping it friendly, that's right—shook just that extra bit longer that mutely said _trust._ "Well Conrad, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

"Likewise, Mist-er, Lamont." A self-conscious smile that still hid the fangs. Good, good, getting better, less obvious. The guy might actually get the hang of it one day, maybe. "You wouldn't happen to have my, er…"

"You'll find three pints in your refrigerator. Number 2236, right?" Oh, that expression was priceless. A shame cameras didn't work on vampire, a damn shame.

He clapped a hand on Conrad's shoulder and grinned. "I think this the beginning of something mutually beneficial, Conrad. Don't you?"

* * *

Been wanting to do something with Lamont ever since I read VetaeliaX's Army!AU series, and I've been spending a lot of time in coffee shops studying/people watching, so really, this prompt was just the little spark I needed to write this. Of course, I write at a snail's pace so the prompt's a bit old now.

I say it's the thought that counts.

And also, this just _begged_ to be written in second person, but I've gotten sloppy with that business and so forced myself to be a bit more traditional. My writing is still as fragmented and sprinkled with italics as ever. Ah well.


End file.
